Revenant
by intoxicatedasphyxiation
Summary: The world is changing at the flap of a butterfly's wings; it starts when a Konoha genin begins to realize that she is the living embodiment of a child soldier that her teacher used to know. [What if Rin was given a second chance to live? Rin!Sakura]


**Disclaimer: **Everything that's different is mine.

**Summary: **The world is changing at the flap of a butterfly's wings; it starts when a Konoha genin begins to realize that she is the living embodiment of a child soldier that her teacher used to know. [What if Rin was given a second chance to live? Rin!Sakura]

**Notes: **

**- **Considerably AU. I like butterfly effects and dislike strict loyalty to canon.

- Inspired by the idea of "what if Rin had lived?" and how it would affect canon, but warped with the concept of reincarnation and intergenerational struggle.

- Loosely inspired by _The Secret (2007)_ by Vincent Perez, which was in turn based on _Himitsu (1999)_ by Takita Yōjirō, although the concept isn't quite the same… at all.

- The selected (first person limited) narrative viewpoint was chosen for a reason – all limitations (i.e. narrative bias, unknown external occurrences) attributed to it apply.

- Please forgive my unwieldy attempts at composing historical/academic documents.

Thanks for reading – I hope you enjoy it enough to review.

* * *

**Revenant**

_By intoxicatedasphyxiation_

* * *

"_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;__  
__I lift my lids and all is born again.__  
__(I think I made you up inside my head.)"_

– "Mad Girl's Love Song" by Sylvia Plath

* * *

**.01**

"_During the war, we kept our children away from the shinobi that passed through our corner of town. It was a futile gesture that symbolized the general civilian mindset at the time. We all knew that if they wanted to take our children, they would do so anyway, and nobody would be able to stop them. There were the occasional few who tried, but without chakra, it was as though we were merely excess mouths to feed in a village that was already rationing its food. Iwa-nin up north raided our incoming food supplies and the harvest wasn't quite as good as it should have been. _

_Scholars like me were deemed the greatest wastes of space in a world where even the local garden hoe was considered mightier than the pen. Knives and wire were the preferred bartering tools of choice and violence was rampant in the civilian sectors, where the only wars to fight were the ones that determined the source of a person's next meal. The shinobi were unconcerned with what we did, so long as we did nothing to betray or jeopardize the village as a whole, and many good families starved or met their ends at the hands of those who banded into groups and stooped to the level of common criminals. _

_When the shinobi came, it was only because there was a temporary lull in the war or the body count was running high and they had to refill their ranks. They often brought sensors and medics with them – the ones they could spare who were often injured and thus deemed a risk to let out on the field. The sensors would pick up the chakra signals of those who showed promise, while the medics would determine if they were old and healthy enough to train. Considering the rumors I had heard regarding the prodigious son of Konoha's White Fang, it seemed that any age above that of five was often considered sufficient in the eyes of a desperate, depleting shinobi force._

_It was no great wonder that the statistics for the body count of shinobi under the age of twelve were hidden from the public for many years after the war was supposedly 'won'."_

– Revenants: The Forgotten Child Soldiers (A Civilian Memoir of the Third Shinobi World War), Author Unknown

* * *

On the day of my graduation, I decided to cut my hair.

The decision wasn't made lightly and I had been having second thoughts about it for days. I had once taken great pride in growing it out, all for the sake of commanding the attention of a certain classmate while at the same time competing with another, but now it felt clunky, like a relic waiting to be stowed away.

I knew that years of maintaining both its length and longevity made the decision seem whimsical, like I was doing it simply for the sake of making a change. If asked, I wouldn't have denied it either, but I would also admit that it brought me a sense of serenity, like I was leaving an aspect of my childhood behind me.

I would have felt proud, if it weren't for the sentiments of nostalgia that settled in, nesting fondly.

My parents decided to make it my graduation gift. We went to the hairdresser's as a group and they sat in the lounge while the stylist took a pair of scissors to my hair. It went unsaid, but we all knew that it was the last time a civilian would be cutting my hair. Among shinobi, the standard practice was that only trusted family members and friends were allowed to take a sharp blade near the vicinity of one's face. It saddened me, knowing that it was another civilian habit I would be forced to give up.

It was strange, watching my hair fall. I felt like an outsider in my own body, observing dispassionately as the pink strands circled down to the floor in neat little piles. Soon, they would be swept away, and I would be left with all that remained. A part of me wondered what Ino would say.

I felt anew when the deed was done. Everything felt lighter too, like a costume had come off my shoulders. I liked that I could feel the cool breeze on the back of my neck, though I knew that it'd still take a while to adjust to the absence.

My parents tried hard to share my bliss, but I knew how bad they were at letting go. Keeping my hair long had been an aspect of femininity that they liked, reassuring them that their little girl was going to stick around in the safer world of studies, theory, and strawberry ice cream. It wasn't their fault that I found a strange dissonance in calamities like quiet weekends and slow trips by livestock-pulled carts to nearby towns. I found religion in the unknown, and it manifested in the form of women who could dance on water and men who could summon dragons from air and dust.

Surely fate would find my parents faultless for indulging my fantasies and allowing me to live my dreams.

We made trips to banks and photography centers in preparation for my new career. Becoming a genin meant that I was accorded certain privileges that weren't normally given to minors. Having a personal bank account was crucial for missions, especially when payments were too large to be doled out in cash. Being a shinobi meant that I was expected to be financially independent, as everything I earned would be officially considered my own and nobody was allowed to take that right away from me. I was most definitely still allowed to inherit, just as my parents were automatically registered to inherit from me, in the event of unforeseen circumstances.

I remember their unease when the banker brought it up.

The photos I took were not only for my parents' sake, but also for the official documentation I would need to register as a kunoichi of the village. The way my mom held the form made me realize that there was an unofficial countdown she and my dad were dreading. Each move I made to hasten my registration only served to speed up their despair.

"Sakura," my mom said softly, when I joined the queue in the waiting room outside the registration center. "It… isn't too late to change your mind." This wasn't the first time she said this to me, but I knew that it would probably be the last.

"I shouldn't," was my response, and I hugged her tightly around the waist. "I think I was made for this."

I ignored the stares we received and stood that way for the longest time, until the chūnin at the desk waved me in. Letting go was harder, even though the separation was only temporary. My dad masked his disapproval with a hardened look, but said nothing.

The Sandaime Hokage was waiting inside, with an assistant beside him. The latter was poring over countless forms and making check marks on a clipboard. The village's leader was wearing the full robes of his office and smoking a pipe. He looked elderly in every way, from his wrinkled and pockmarked skin down to the way he clasped his hands together on the table before him. I wondered what it'd be like to have a granddad like him.

He eyed me in a way that was both kindly and assessing. It served his purpose well in both putting me at ease while underlining the formality of the meeting. He beckoned me to approach and I handed him my form.

"Haruno Sakura," he read aloud in a voice that could have professionally narrated bedtime stories for children. "You enjoy playing trivia games, reading, and memorizing." He seemed to consider the revelation thoughtfully. "The last two are vague, compared to the first. So what is it that you like to read? How does memorizing factor in?"

His line of questioning surprised me. I didn't think he'd take an interest in the random hobbies of fresh academy graduates. I wondered if it was a test under the secret guise of a casual question and answer session. "Mysteries," I complied, answering with ease. "Histories too, especially autobiographies and memoirs from the last war. I also like academic texts, for studying." Theory was my forte, so most of my improvements came from late nights of reading and staying back after class to visit the school library.

I considered his other question carefully, choosing my words from fragments of wisdom I had picked up from the large tomes I kept at home. "Memorizing immortalizes knowledge. With knowledge comes understanding." I responded with conviction. I didn't want to come across as a mere mockingbird.

"There are those who would argue differently," he replied sagely, with the ease of someone who was expected to have an answer to everything, "that memorization in fact tempers the desire to learn and hinders understanding." His insight caught me off guard and I think my nervousness showed. I hadn't been expecting a full blown discussion on this; adults tended to not take my words so seriously.

"Well..." I started, giving it some thought. In school, remaining silent was often the worst way of demonstrating surprise, as the teachers usually interpreted it as the inability to comprehend the actual question in the first place. I didn't want to give Hokage-sama the idea that I was treating his rebuttal as rhetorical either, as his statement directly challenged the logic of mine.

To him, I was probably just a child with new shinobi sandals, an untarnished headband, and dreams of fresh battles and chakra theories that lacked any foresight about the violence beyond blunted kunai thrown around at the academy yard. My interests could have included collecting shells or taking long walks through overgrown forests and I would have still been assessed on my ability to derive its true purpose and meaning.

Though it initially struck me as odd that Hokage-sama would be playing the devil's advocate, it actually made more sense when I considered the number of shinobi he had overseen at this very desk for the duration of his appointed reign. He had lived, worked with, and personally known every single ruler of this village, and he had also outlived them all. I was but a flicker of a passing moment in time that would either fall short of glory and exist only on archived forms and in the memories of a collective few, or I would survive to encompass all the ideals of both the past and future generations of this village.

At present, I was a living dream lining up to be weighed, tested, and hopefully, not found wanting.

I had already made it this far. I didn't plan to disappoint.

"Context defines purpose," I continued, after a lifetime of consideration. "Why should the desire to learn depend on memorization in the first place? They're like two straight lines that run parallel to each other without depending on one another." Memorization was always a part of my learning process. Having it dismissed as a hindrance was a foreign concept that burrowed deeply into my mind and left me restless.

Holding my ground came almost naturally, as I wove together an argument from all the things I had learned. "I memorize to never forget all that I've tried hard to learn, because once I've gathered all my knowledge, all I have to do is apply it whenever the situation calls for it. Understanding is part of the learning process that appears along the way. It shouldn't be the factor that validates the attainment of knowledge."

This particular two-man audience overwhelmed me and I fidgeted a little in the silence that followed. Glancing at the door, I pictured my parents standing side by side, waiting for this to end. My mom's anxiety was the type that didn't require chakra to sense.

Turning back, I caught the Hokage exchanging a look with the shinobi beside him, who leaned in and began speaking in low tones. I stood patiently, watching a flock of birds take flight from the nearby window. Our village had its fair share of migrating birds throughout the year, though a great number of them were scavengers that stole scraps of food from unsuspecting victims. I remember seeing a shinobi snatch one out of thin air when it made away with a piece of ham from his sandwich. Ino had called it pointless, saying that birds never learned from their mistakes.

When the whispering stopped, the Hokage smiled warmly at me. A file rested on the table before him beside my registration form. I recognized it as the one that held my academic records and transcripts.

"Your theory examination records are outstanding," he said, "they speak for themselves. There are few who can claim to have so many perfect scores. Your parents must be very proud of you." He caught my gaze as he said it, as though deliberately gauging my response. I chewed a little on my lower lip.

"They… try," I replied slowly, trying hard to find the words. "They didn't expect that I would choose this career path, really."

"Yes… the transition is often hard. It was very courageous of you to make such a choice. I know that it wasn't easy, especially being an only child."

No, it wasn't. Most civilian families kept out of shinobi affairs, as they operated separately despite their direct leadership over the village. As one of the more liberal hidden villages, powerful civilian merchants and politicians were given seats on the council and allowed a say in the village's affairs. They were also allowed to vote on policies pertaining to the academy and certain shinobi affairs, though in that aspect they were greatly outnumbered by the shinobi clan heads that dominated the council seats. In business and economic affairs, however, they reigned supreme, and as a result, Konohagakure flourished despite previous financial setbacks caused by the last war and the attack of the Kyuubi over a decade ago.

The civilian leaders were also chiefly responsible for the raised academy graduation age. Their reasoning had been that during peacetime, a large majority of the voluntary academy applicants pooled from the civilian population, and that most had little to no knowledge about the shinobi lifestyle to be able to adapt to it quickly. It was more likely that they feared the concept of children without proper childhoods. Many civilians still remembered the unnumbered child soldiers from the previous war, as many had been their own. It became a famous ethical debate that the council fought long and hard about, and several treatises had been written about it.

Some children demonstrated early chakra potential. They were often scouted out and offered scholarships by the village to start early, if they seemed promising enough. Others were taken by their parents for voluntary testing at some of the local recruitment centers. I had been one of the latter, though it only happened due to my heavy insistence after the local flower shop owner's daughter befriended me and convinced me to join the local shinobi academy. She even took me to one of the academy open day fairs.

I remember being enchanted by all the uniforms and demonstrations of chakra-enforced techniques. The syllabus had been straightforward too, with interesting core subjects and special electives for those who favored history and military strategy over infiltration and espionage, or weapons mastery over traditional hand-to-hand combat. There was even an option for those who favored languages and encryption codes. It sounded like a fantastical world of secrets and wonders with a graduation plan that promised to deliver magic and mystery into the palm of my hand.

Learning that I had a slow and steadily pulsating chakra reserve with the potential to grow had been the highlight of a lifetime. My parents, however, had reacted differently. Being friends with the owners of Yamanaka Flowers hadn't softened the blow either, despite their constant reassurances.

My mom had cried for days. My dad, on the other hand, had reacted stiffly, as though he had been bestowed the gift of foresight and caught a glimpse of a future he hadn't wanted to see.

All friendship between our two families had been strained after that, resuming only after I had long settled into the academy. It was around the time Ino tied a red ribbon around my head to pull back the hair that framed my face, as a ward against bullying.

I learned later on that I was an oddity amidst our peers, as I was the only academy student from a civilian home whose parents only had a single child. It turned out that civilian families were often exempted from being shinobi when they only had one heir. My parents had planned to steal me away with that plea, but they were talked out of it when one of the teachers intervened and persuaded them to give me a chance.

As a result, my teachers often praised me and encouraged me to work harder on my weaker subjects. I think I improved much in my taijutsu training, though my physical endurance didn't give me a lot to work with. I still graduated with passing marks in those areas, which seemed sufficient at the time. Now that the theory exams were over, my deficiencies were beginning to eat away at me.

"It wasn't easy," I said, answering Hokage-sama's unasked question. "But I believe that this was always my choice to make."

"And so it is," he responded knowingly, pipe in one hand. With his other, he reached for his official seal, and inked it with a minute infusion of his very own chakra. After this, there would be no turning back. I took in a deep breath.

"May you proudly embody the Will of Fire," he announced ceremoniously, stamping my registration form and sealing my fate. "We're proud to have you with us."

* * *

I had a feeling that changes were coming when Iruka-sensei announced the allocated team formations.

There had been twenty-seven graduates in total and all were sorted neatly into the standard sets of three. A designated jōnin-sensei was appointed to head each team and the structure was expected to hold until one of the genin received a promotion that would allow them to serve as team captain instead. I admired the dedication that went into taking up that role. To me, being a jōnin-sensei meant investing long-term in the futures of others. It was like adopting children you never knew you'd wanted and being both a guardian and mentor figure to them. I could even see myself doing the same thing, many years from now.

There were few who were actually happy with their team assignments, and a lot of verbal threats and pleas had taken flight. Iruka-sensei, a firm believer in being tough to be tender, had simply shot down all requests for transfers before they could be put into writing. He also appeased the masses by pointing out that the Sandaime Hokage himself had personally assessed and approved each and every team. I wasn't surprised, but it also made me question the logic behind the decision for mine.

Team Seven, after all, was a mix of highs and lows that came across as bipolar, even in theory. We were strangely mismatched, from the way we dressed and behaved, down to our actual scores and battlefield abilities. I understood the reasoning behind our team's structure – Iruka-sensei had explained that those with the best grades in opposing fields were often paired together with the weakest of the entire batch. It didn't, however, justify our team's existence.

Uchiha Sasuke was the rising star, the rookie of the year who disappointed no-one and mastered everything, save for the areas of my expertise. I made up for his supposed imperfections with my proficiency in everything pertaining to written theory. For physical assessments, however, I was sorely lacking. I made the bare minimum required to pass and struggled to hold my weapons with the same finesse that shinobi clan-born children could muster in their sleep.

Uzumaki Naruto was the maverick, the loose cannon who masqueraded as the village prankster and class clown, but was in fact a strangely disregarded social pariah. I discovered this a long time ago, when my parents had forbidden me from befriending him during our early years at the academy. It was during the time my parents weren't really speaking to Ino's and I was constantly teased by others about my forehead. Naruto had been kind and a source of energy and laughter that accompanied me during breaks and shared some of my food. When my parents learned about this, they called him a monster in human skin. I was angered by the remark, but I didn't question it further when their insistence to drop the subject included the threat of withdrawing me from the academy. We didn't speak much after that, as he started pulling pranks on the teachers and villagers with a passion that nobody saw coming.

Naruto was unpredictability in a team that was grounded in certainty. The fact that he and Sasuke couldn't stand the sight of each other made things all the more worse. It was inevitable that the role of mediator would fall to me, but even I wasn't equipped to handle such polar opposites.

"Nervous?" Ino asked, leaning over. Her chin was cupped in the palms of her hands and she stared at me from the table perpendicular to mine. We were waiting for Iruka-sensei to introduce us to our jōnin-sensei, and only half of them had actually arrived on time. One of the earliest had been a beautiful woman with piercing red eyes, who turned out to be the sensei for Team Eight. Yūhi Kurenai was her name.

"Saying no would be lying," I replied, pressing one cheek down against the cool tabletop. I traced imaginary swirls and patterns along the wooden surface with a finger.

Ino watched me intently for another moment, before resuming her line of questioning. "So for how long were you planning to do it?" From the way she worded it, I could tell that she was hoping to start strong by being on the offensive.

I lifted my head in confusion. "Planning to do what?"

"That," she said, pointing at my newly-cropped hair. "I like that it frames your face and all. Very cute. What's its purpose though?" She leaned closer towards me, lowering her voice. "Are you giving up on Sasuke-kun?"

I should have known that it would head in that direction. "Not everything in this world revolves around him, you know." I whispered back. "I did it for me. It felt… right, if you know what I mean."

"Well, I'm sticking to what I have," she said, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. She flashed a winsome smile in Sasuke's direction, but he merely turned away to stare at the door. I nearly giggled. "He'll grow into his hormones eventually," she reasoned, shrugging nonchalantly. The only consolation that all the girls had was that he didn't favor a single one.

We waited in silence until our teams were the last two left unclaimed. Iruka-sensei announced the names of our respective jōnin-sensei, who were equally late. Ino was the only one who seemed to recognize the names.

"Figures," she muttered, moving to take the seat beside mine. "My parents warned me that I'd be getting a Sarutobi."

"As in, one that's related to Hokage-sama?" I sat up straight, fully interested. It wasn't an exclusive clan name if one went by the village census, but all others paled in contrast to the one hailed by the village as royalty.

"Probably one of his sons," she drawled, "though I'd be even more impressed if he got here sooner. First impressions are everything, really. Having political power is still pointless if you can't maintain a certain level of professionalism." She tilted her head a little, eyeing me with a strange grin of amusement. "Though there are some who are apparently exceptions to the rule."

I leaned back, feeling slightly overwhelmed by her gaze. Did she mean me? I didn't think so, but the sudden desire to react defensively seeped into my bones, causing me to tense up in response. She eyed me knowingly. The subtle changes in my body language wouldn't go unnoticed; identifying such things was part of her clan's specialization. Her lips twisted into a wicked smirk; I know she enjoyed watching me squirm.

"Your sensei," she elaborated, rolling her eyes. "Hatake Kakashi. He's really famous, you know." I frowned, wondering where I'd heard the name before. When Iruka-sensei first announced it, it had soared over my head, like the names of all the others called out before him. Hearing it repeated once more seemed to ground it in reality, startling me with its familiarity. It wasn't the most attractive name I'd ever come across, as its meaning left much to be desired. It was, however, unique. I wasn't the type to forget names easily and I would've easily recalled it had I ever come across it in a text or through word of mouth.

"I'm told that he's famous for a bunch of things," Ino whispered conspiratorially, shifting closer to me. We were practically inches away from each other. "But what he's really famous for is his chronic tardiness."

Had I been drinking water, I might have choked. How could a person be famous for that? Was that even a thing? She looked at me so seriously that I felt a little guilty for doubting her, but I really couldn't tell if she was pulling my leg.

"I'm sorry, what?" I exclaimed, stupefied by her statement, and she gave me a look that seemed to ask if I had a hearing impairment.

"Yes, it's a thing, and apparently he's late for everything and everyone, including the Sandaime," Ino replied, demonstrating her prowess at being the little mind reader that she was always going to be. We might have been platonic soul mates if she wasn't so overwhelming, as our interests were generally the same. We both liked puzzles, intelligent musings, and the class enigma that went by the name of Uchiha Sasuke.

My silence must have conveyed my horror, as Ino patted my shoulder in consolation.

"I'm told his excuses are ridiculous too," she added, holding nothing back. It reminded me of the time we both fell and scraped our knees on the graveled pathway in a nearby park, long before we entered the academy. We had received matching bandages with pretty butterfly motifs at her insistence, and color-coordinated our clothes to match them. When the time came for them to come off, she had opted for the quick and painful removal, while I had chosen the slow and steadier method instead. _So civilian_, she had said, in a tone that I remembered clearly. Her blatant curiosity had also set me on edge.

Our jōnin-sensei arrived within minutes of each other.

The first was very tall, with a large frame that denoted how much time and dedication he must have put into training and honing his form. Dark hair completely framed his face in the form of sideburns and a short, pointed beard. He wore the standard military uniform and flak jacket. Two thick bangles hung around his wrists and a triangular sash with the encircled kanji for fire adorned his waist. I recognized the symbol from my readings. There were many shinobi from Konoha who made their fame by directly serving the Fire Daimyō. I wondered briefly if he was my sensei and considered the notion exciting.

"Team Ten?" he announced, dampening my hopes. Perhaps Hokage-sama was just too old. I really couldn't see any resemblance between them, unless I considered their beards. Maybe he had been a mirror image of this man during his youth. I felt my cheeks heat up a little at the thought.

"Old, but cute," Ino whispered into my ear with a smirk, before getting up to greet her new teacher. He took command over his oddball team of clan heirs easily and answered all of Ino's interrogative questions without much hesitation. I was duly impressed.

I barely even noticed when the other jōnin entered the room.

He moved silently with a practiced ease that must have come from years of honing his chakra and physical form. One hand was tucked into his pocket while the other carried a book I was unfamiliar with. He wore the same standard uniform and flak jacket, but with a mask that covered most of his face. His hair was silver, wild and untamed, barely held together by a forehead protector that slanted diagonally over his left eye. He had a gaze that came across as both lazy and assessing. It must have taken him years to hone it.

"What a surprise," said the Sarutobi. Asuma was his given name. "You're only a couple of minutes later than me. For you, that's… early." He looked as stunned as he sounded, and Ino looked the same. I looked for any indications that they were exaggerating their responses, but found only genuine shock.

"Is it?" the other replied coolly, and I studied this Hatake Kakashi like the elusive entity that he portrayed himself to be. He turned to Iruka-sensei and apologized in a manner that came across as a poor attempt at sounding sheepish. "Sorry I'm late; I was having my fortune read."

I shot Ino a look of exasperation and she merely rolled her eyes, before following her teacher and fellow teammates out the door. The two jōnin exchanged brief looks of acknowledgment before parting ways.

Iruka-sensei merely pinched the bridge of his nose, before sighing in resignation. He looked so helpless, like he had been in this predicament many times before. His jaw flexed a little, as though considering what comeback to give to the silver-haired nin, before settling for silence. He looked like a man in the midst of a hopeless war, and I had a slow, nagging inkling that I would soon greatly empathize with his pain.

"Your education will differ from here on out," Iruka-sensei said, offering us one final shred of his teaching wisdom. "Good luck, Team Seven," he added meaningfully, with a touch of hope that brought about a tiny feeling of dread. For a moment, I wanted to cling to him and promise to stay young so that I would never have to leave the security of the academy's confines, but I resisted the urge. This was the moment I had been waiting for my entire life. Here, there were no parents to judge me, no Ino to support me, and no academy teachers to correct all my mistakes. If this was what growing up felt like, then it was both exciting and terrifying.

Watching Iruka-sensei leave felt like entering a new place while being entrusted into the care of a complete stranger. At least for starters, we knew this stranger's name.

"Kakashi-sensei," I pronounced slowly, testing out the new syllables that would soon become a common sound. He eyed me impassively, before turning to my other teammates.

"We meet on the roof in five," he asserted, vanishing in a swirl of leaves and smoke. To me, it was a trick that never got old. My teammates, however, were less than enchanted by the display.

"Hey hey, is this unreliable guy really our sensei? Why did they think he was early?" Naruto protested, flailing wildly.

"He just suffers from chronic tardiness," I replied, repeating Ino's procured diagnosis of the man.

"It's still irresponsible," Sasuke responded, before heading to the door. I quickly fell in behind him, while Naruto charged on ahead, determined to reach our destination first. I stared at the way Sasuke's shoulders tensed up a little while walking, making him look like a person who had been sentenced to hang. Looking at Naruto, I guess I understood why. I gave my crush an encouraging smile, before pulling ahead to catch up with the loudest member of our team.

I couldn't deny that I was a little despaired by our setup too, though I wasn't going to threw stones at anyone for it. However, it was obvious that all the odds were stacked against us. A team like ours would either sink or swim, depending on our teamwork and tolerance. Perhaps it was my civilian background that had set the ball rolling. Had my parents pulled enough strings to push Hokage-sama into secretly failing me? I didn't know the extent of their political connections, but my dad was a respected man of business who often travelled far and wide. I also knew that there were many who owed him favors, though he was never the type who flaunted what he had.

It made sense when I considered the fact that Naruto, whom they hated, was on my team. Had Iruka-sensei informed them about the team setup? How Naruto managed to get his forehead protector was a great mystery that nobody had the answer to. Our final exam had been the day before and he had clearly failed to produce several clones. It wasn't a secret that bunshin no jutsu was his weakest technique. Many speculated that he had taken a remedial exam and miraculously passed. When asked, Iruka-sensei had remained tight-lipped about it while simultaneously shooting down several hostile rumors that Naruto had sacrificed the blood of a teacher to the moon.

Mizuki-sensei's absence had made the whole thing even more suspicious, causing many parents to complain.

However, it didn't explain Sasuke's presence on the team. I recall the teachers calling him the pride of our generation when I passed by the staff room after school over a year ago. As a keen admirer of his abilities, I had swelled in pride on his behalf. Sometimes I wondered if he knew just how much hope he represented in the eyes of both his teachers and classmates. Whenever confronted by Naruto, he wore a cool look that left nobody questioning his superiority and he also met all physical and intellectual challenges head-on. However, after the rush of adrenaline had run its course, he often withdrew further into himself by diving headfirst into his own training.

While others saw his flawless technique and form, I saw someone with eyes that were silently screaming in frustration. At first, I hadn't understood why such a perfect candidate would be cursing his own mastery. It was only after I had gotten my hundredth gold star during one of the many internal exams that I truly understood. Practice made perfection, but it also hindered growth. Sasuke required new challenges beyond the scope of a traditional classroom setting. I felt a certain level of kinship with him in that regard, though I was also keenly aware of my inability to improve in areas that required physical skills. Ino occasionally aided me from time to time, but my improvement was slow and gradual. I was better than some, but worse than most. It wasn't comforting.

Kakashi-sensei was already waiting for us by the time we reached the rooftop. Leaning against the railing on the building's edge, he gestured towards the wide steps before him with a slight tilt of his chin. We sat down quickly and waited for further instructions.

"Iruka-sensei told you my name already," he began, "so I'm not going to bother repeating it. Retaining information is crucial in this profession, so if you can't remember it, you should reconsider your career options." He spoke lightheartedly but it still came across in a manner that invited no arguments. His tone was friendly on the surface, but jarring in terms of its actual content. The words he chose sounded like a sinister joke, making him the sardonic comedian.

I compared this to Ino's vague assessment of the man. As befitting her clan's style, she had actually given me very little information about him, such as what he was actually famous for. She had spent more time analyzing my body language and facial expressions in order to gauge my responses and determine how much I actually knew. Over our time in the academy, we had often competed in the areas of theory, and on paper, I was always the victor. In practice, however, her intellectual capacity surpassed all others as the real world was filled with people, not examinations and phrases on printed paper.

As the daughter of a florist and retired T&I specialist, she took pride in being at the epicenter of gossip. If she discovered something, it was very likely to be true, though it always came at a cost. For me, the cost was always something she extracted on her own and it was the knowledge of whether or not I came close to knowing what she knew. Ino was highly competitive that way, but I never begrudged her the chance to win.

Kakashi-sensei was obviously eccentric, as he managed to be both indecipherable and intimidating at the same time. His lateness was another point that both contrasted and complimented everything I knew about him thus far. He came across as the midpoint between oil and water, as he seemed to disregard social decorum while at the same time appeared to enforce certain expectations about being a shinobi. It was like he both honored the rules and toed around their loopholes whenever it met his fancy. It was perplexing.

"Now, why don't you three introduce yourselves," he said with some encouragement that could have been mistaken as false cheer, and his eye crinkled into something suggesting a smile. "And to shake things up, why don't you include three things that you think your teammates should know about you."

I considered asking him to go first, to give a demonstration of what he considered a good example of the icebreaking task. Finding a good approach, however, held me back and made me hold my tongue. He didn't seem the type who guided his students by holding their hands and I wasn't going to weigh his tolerance by asking a question like that.

I thanked kami for a teammate like Naruto, who never refused the chance to speak and always interpreted things his own way. At times, it was thoughtless and often presented him as a babbling idiot without the capacity to listen, but more often than not, he broke the silence and set the basic standard for the answers of others that would follow.

"My name is Uzumaki Naruto and I love ramen," he declared eagerly, going first. "My favorite is Ichiraku Ramen's miso ramen with extra roasted pork, and my dream is to one day become the Hokage!" His enthusiasm was infectious and it diffused much of the pressure surrounding our current assignment. I liked how his needs were simple while his dreams were big; it revealed his practicality without tempering his idealism. I found his dream poetic – he had repeated it many times in class, though Iruka-sensei had chided him in return, stating that a real Hokage candidate properly attended classes and didn't deface the Hokage Monument that represented both the pride and history of the village.

I also liked that Kakashi-sensei wasn't scoffing at him for it. It wasn't teacherly to dishearten a student's dreams. Catching my gaze, our sensei nodded once in my direction. "Your turn," he said, glancing a little at my hair. It was probably the pink. He wouldn't be the first to wonder if it was natural. I quickly ran my fingers through it in an attempt to smoothen the ends.

"My name is Haruno Sakura," I responded heartily, wanting to set a good first impression. "I enjoy reading, especially genres like mystery and history, and I never forget anything I read. I wish to improve my physical skills, particularly in the areas of taijutsu and chakra regulation, since my chakra capacity isn't very high. My goal is to provide support for the team, whether through intelligence or… medical aid."

I surprised myself with the admission, but it wasn't a wholly whimsical one.

Civilians pictured the shinobi career path as a straight and narrow road, with fewer opportunities to explore, if one disregarded the higher elements of risk it carried. They failed to see that it mirrored their own in every aspect. They had secretaries and medics, as did shinobi. There were shinobi librarians and accountants too, though few ever laid eyes on them. The choices were varied, though few tended to consider them early during their academy years. As a born and bred daughter of civilians, I had considered my options almost immediately, just as I would have if I had chosen a different path in another life.

I wasn't a practicing medic-in-training, nor did I learn anything beyond the basic first aid taught to all. The academy hadn't offered medical tutoring as an elective, though we had learned a little about the branch. The first thing we learned was that we didn't require massive chakra reserves to practice in the field, but rather perfect control. As a result, being a medic had appealed to me immensely, though it still ranked behind departments that focused on the acquisition and decryption of intelligence. Mizuki-sensei had been my guidance counselor at the time, though he had encouraged me to consider specializing only after I had been sorted into a team.

I looked at Kakashi-sensei in order to gauge his reaction and he considered me pensively before turning to the final member of our group.

I snuck a glance at the boy I had admired for years. "Uchiha Sasuke," he proclaimed, in a tone that invited blame for the melting of young female hearts. "I don't like many things and getting stronger is my goal. What I have isn't quite a dream, but rather an ambition, which is to resurrect my clan and kill a certain man." All promises of a friendly icebreaker died with that confession. It threw me several ways at once and I felt a little guilty for thinking the things I did. I had almost blushed at the mention of his clan's resurrection, though it had died a little when I imagined Ino's potentially crooked leer. I wondered if Sasuke knew that most of the girls in class would have interpreted his words that way.

His mention of murder, however, had immediately dampened all mistaken thoughts and grounded his perspective in the present as a problem that was real. It came across as a rude awakening that contrasted with Naruto's easy dreaming and my focus on the team and how it impacted my career. Sasuke's declaration came across as heavy brushstrokes of red on a canvas with a painting of the world. I could feel the emotion behind his statement, and it filled the air like a heavy fog that descended with the permanence of haze.

Yet, it was also enlightening, and I saw it as the answer to all of my personal, unasked questions about his attitude in both the classroom and during training. Killing wasn't something to be taken lightly, and the desire to kill even more so. How had he acquired it? I had heard rumors that he had lost his family a few years ago, though the details were seemingly hushed up. Nobody volunteered any information about it either and soon it became an unofficial taboo to even mention it in class.

I wondered if his current ambition was related and it saddened me, imagining the heartbreak that must have led him to this.

"Try not to freak out," Kakashi-sensei said, taking over and permeating the tension with practiced ease. "But there's a sixty-six percent chance that all your dreams will end tomorrow, after your survival training exam with me."

"A training exam?" I asked, feeling my heart sink. He stared at me, amused. Sasuke's scowls and Naruto's loud protests seemed to drown out in the background of my own disbelief.

"Only three teams pass with each graduation," he elaborated. "If you fail, you'll live in the limbo between academy graduation and not having an official team. If you pass, you'll become official genin." We stared at him uncomfortably and he merely smiled at us with his eye. I secretly wondered if he liked watching us squirm.

"We'll meet at training ground three," he continued, "tomorrow at nautical dawn. Come prepared, skip your breakfast, and don't be late." With that, he vanished, leaving us alone with our emotions.

Naruto was the first to explode.

* * *

When Ino opened the door, I held up cherry tomatoes in one hand and a cup of pudding in the other.

"Most people aim for subtle," was her response, "but this works too." She stepped aside to let me in, and I put her all-time favorites down onto the nearest table. Being in her home was like second nature to me, and I took a seat on my favorite living room chair. It was well-loved but still in tip-top shape. Her parents had been trying to dispose of it for ages, but Ino kept it around for my special visits and sleepovers. She was occasionally sentimental like that.

"So, what is it that you need to know?" she asked, two hundred percent curious, though she masked it well. I watched as she moved to refrigerate the food.

"Hatake Kakashi," I called out as she entered the adjoining room where the kitchen lay. When she emerged with a glass of water for me, there was a knowing gleam in her eyes. Judging by the widening, predatory smile that accompanied it, I imagined that she must have been waiting for this request for most of her day.

"Sharingan no Kakashi," she started enthusiastically, taking the seat adjacent to mine. "Also known as the Copy Ninja. Rumor has it that he holds the record for graduating early from the academy, as well as for making chūnin. He's some kind of eccentric prodigy with chronic tardiness and I've heard somewhere that he likes dogs."

"Wait," I said, ignoring the dog comment to address my immediate concern. "Sharingan?"

"You read war histories," Ino replied chidingly, "so surely you've heard of it." Yes, it definitely came up, but there weren't many publically available texts that detailed much about it beyond its supposed fame.

"Not in detail," I offered truthfully, "but isn't it related more to… Sasuke-kun?" I tilted my head. "I mean, he has the same clan name…"

"He does," Ino said, a little sadly. "I guess that's the interesting thing though, that your sensei has the moniker. So, why do you want to know about him? What did he put your team through?"

"Apparently only three teams will pass," I answered, spilling everything with ease. I finished by telling her that we were to meet him tomorrow at training ground three.

Ino fixated me with a strange look. "Funny," she murmured, rather seriously. I gave her room to process her thoughts by finishing my drink and taking the glass to the kitchen sink. The glass was drying on the counter by the time she joined me, and she looked contemplative as she propped herself onto a nearby stool.

I eyed her intently, taking the seat opposite her.

"What is it?" I asked, once the silence had gone on for too long.

"No, I'm… trying to put two and two together," she said distractedly. "I'd rather confirm it before drawing my conclusions." She glanced at my outfit, pursing her lips. I shied back a little and looked down, wondering if there was a shirt stain I wasn't seeing.

"What is it?" I knew that Ino was fashion-conscious, but I had worn this particular combination before and she had considered it cute.

"I'd lend you some clothes, but my shinobi closet is officially off-limits to everyone, even you."

What was she talking about? "What's wrong with this?"

"No," she sighed. "I was hoping to stop by training ground three to confirm a thing or two, but you're not really dressed for entry."

"There's a dress code?" I asked, appalled. Why didn't people mention these things?

"Most shinobi get all touchy when they think a civilian's on their lawn," she drawled, "and I'm not bothered to stop by your house and wait for you to change. If we're doing this, we're doing it now."

I withdrew my forehead protector from my pocket and tied it on. "Is this enough?"

"Meh," she responded. "Well, I'm getting changed."

Ino took less time than I expected, considering how obsessive she could be when it came to dressing right and dolling herself for public excursions. Most of it was really for our mutual crush, and I think it baffled her that I didn't do much beyond growing my hair out like she did. My recent haircut probably came as a huge shock to her, as it had been one of things we had competed over. Cutting it short, in her opinion, was probably akin to forfeiting our little tournament. It probably made her unsure about where I stood in regards to my feelings for Sasuke.

In all honesty, they hadn't gone anywhere, but for the longest time, I hadn't considered him a battle that needed to be won. If he chose one of us, it'd be cool. But if he didn't, I wasn't going to kick up a fuss about it.

Ino, however, was always on the side of the extreme. It was probably why she often compared us and turned everything we did into a competition of some sort.

We took our time crossing the village, passing through some of the markets and window shopping like we could afford it. There were times when I was tempted to give in, but I preferred to save my money for books and other kunoichi essentials. It was theoretically legal for us to carry real weapons now and it was going to be my first time using them tomorrow. They were still different from their academy versions, which were blunted for safety and specially altered so that their feel and weight would mirror their real counterparts.

Finding training ground three was only easy because Ino was with me. Though I had its mapped location memorized, identifying the place at ground level was harder than I expected. Looking for it in the darkness before twilight would have been a catastrophe, especially without a friend.

"Thanks for this," I said, as meaningfully as I could.

Ino merely snorted. "Don't thank me yet," she muttered, trudging forward, looking for some kind of sign or landmark.

"I see a forest. Now where's the river?" she asked and I pointed over her shoulder at the stretch of flowing water in the distance. She seemed to gather her bearings before walking off in a whole other direction. I trekked after her until we settled in front of a wide-set stone located in close proximity to several tree stumps.

"Well, then. If I'm right, then this is why he comes here." She wore a look of pride that appeared only when she had made a brilliant deduction on her own.

I crouched down in front of the rectangular stone, running my fingers over its outer frame. It was simple and unadorned, with a list of names that must have been carved onto it with a chisel. The workmanship was meticulous and professional, though it bore the appearance of something that mourned an event rather than celebrated it.

"It's our memorial stone," Ino explained, crouching down beside me. "It carries the names of those who died in the line of duty."

I studied the names carefully. There weren't any that particularly stood out, though I pointed out a Yamanaka or two to Ino, who nodded briefly in response. They didn't seem to stir her, so I assumed that they were probably distant relatives whose names were listed on the same family tree, but on a whole different branch.

"So why are we here?" I asked, taking in the setting sun over the horizon.

"Jōnin don't train here," she answered, "but it's been said that he comes here often anyway."

"Ah." I saw how her mind worked. According to her, there was an explanation for everything in the world. Human beings were complicated creatures, she often stated, and I liked how that sentiment tied into my readings. Memoirs were often the greatest places for self-expression and they made it seem like there was always a hidden story waiting to be told behind every decision and excuse made by man.

"Speaking of which, there's another habit you need to pick up," Ino added, tugging on a corner of my shirt. Sluggishly, I met her gaze. "Stock up on your shinobi stuff. Clothes, weapons, everything. They're a part of you now. Wearing this in public isn't practical anymore. Just now, you weren't even wearing your forehead protector, when you should have. You're not even armed right now, are you? Imagine if an invasion occurred. You'd be expected to fight, not change. Negligence is unacceptable. Your image is part of your identity and you're one of us now. Don't ever forget it."

I dipped my head in acquiescence. She often came across as overbearing and harsh, but in this, she was definitely right. I had only changed today because I wanted to do an early wash. I didn't let my mom wash my clothes, as I didn't like reminding her about this life choice of mine. Constant visual reminders were the bane of her existence and I hated seeing her upset. I didn't bring it up as it wasn't an excuse that Ino would have accepted, and I didn't want to fight over it here.

"I know nothing about how he treats his students," Ino continued, switching the topic back to my jōnin-sensei. "But he's never actually taught a genin team before. That might be a good thing, but it's hard to say. It also depends on how much he wants to teach – sometimes the Hokage assigns the role with or without a jōnin's consent. That's why this post-graduation exam exists. If we don't meet their standards, we fail."

I sank to the ground, hugging my knees to my chest as I stared at the stone.

"So, you think that this is why he chose this place for our exam?" I asked, reaching out to run my fingers across the names.

"Honestly, I can't say," she shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe he just likes the scenery. This place has everything – a forest, a river, and a field. It's pretty good for testing a new batch of genin."

I couldn't deny that, though it still baffled me that she brought me all the way out here just for this. Then again, she always did believe in confirming all her assumptions in order to deduce her version of the truth. Perhaps whatever she learned about him today would also serve to benefit me in the days to come.

"Anyway, I have to go," she said, stretching a little as she stood up. "Good luck tomorrow. I know that you and Sasuke-kun will make it through." I grasped her hand in thanks as she squeezed my shoulder.

"You too," I echoed, feeling the bright blaze of orange that descended upon the world as the sun packed its bags for the incoming night. Depending on the view, it was one of my favorite times of the day.

She was gone by the time I closed my eyes, taking in the sounds of the not-too-distant river. There was a gentle, cooling breeze that helped to indicate the growing transition to night. The Land of Fire was lucky in that sense – we didn't suffer from bad weather like hailstones or an overabundance of fog. We also didn't experience heavy thunderstorms or heat waves that created fierce fainting spells. Our weather was the perfect in-between for those who worshipped the sun.

I lost track of time as I sat there, feeling the warmth of the setting sun through the closed lids of my eyes. It felt good, knowing that there was no-one around to judge me or condemn me for my decisions. At times, I dreaded seeing my parents. Having to tell them about the events today and tomorrow would create a new level of tension that I wasn't sure I could deal with. In public, my parents had gotten better at pretending that things would be okay. In private, our dinners were filled with strange silences that arose every time my dad discussed his associates and their children, who were in the same age bracket as me.

I dreaded the idea of telling them that unlike the teachers at the academy, Kakashi-sensei wasn't obligated to report to them about me or answer any questions he didn't want to. His qualifications and mine were now private things that could be classified as village secrets. My permanent transition to this magical world had taken place the moment I received my forehead protector and submitted my official registration form.

I felt like a spirit caught between two worlds, unwilling to settle solely on one side of the great divide.

Picking myself off the ground, I patted the stone in an awkward attempt to say goodbye. It looked a little lonely, so I considered bringing some flowers along with me to the exam tomorrow. Perhaps I'd bring peonies – flowers of bravery for forgotten soldiers.

"I know I said to come on time, but even this is a little extreme."

The verbal intrusion was sudden, and I was startled with both its familiarity and proximity. My heart pounded heavily in my chest as I realized that I had been caught off guard and that the voice belonged to my new teacher. I spun around quickly, only to find him standing a few feet away. When had he arrived? It took me a moment to realize that this was merely a repeat of his arrival at the classroom, and it demonstrated the wide gap between his skills and mine. If he had been an enemy, I would've been dead before I even noticed him.

I shivered a little at the thought.

"Kakashi-sensei," I greeted quickly, smoothening out the wrinkles in my shirt.

"Sakura," he greeted mildly, seemingly amused. I felt the urge to shuffle away from the memorial stone in order to break away from his line of sight, but found myself standing stiffly instead. I looked away in a childish attempt to avoid meeting his gaze. For a person with only one exposed eye, he had a stare that could render a person self-conscious.

"Um…" I said, hoping to diffuse the tension in my brain. "I guess you're early too… by that logic." I could imagine Ino slapping me for that lame attempt at a joke.

"Hmm, you're probably right," he replied, entertaining my awkward response.

Glancing up, I found myself staring at the area where his slanted forehead protector met his mask. It went without saying that he must have lost an eye, though I didn't know why he covered up so much of his face. Had his injuries extended that far? I knew that many Konoha shinobi suffered from caustic burns during the war, when many Iwa-nin decided to mix fire and earth in a morbid attempt to 'see if the leaves would burn'. It was a particular motif that had caught on during the early years of the Third Shinobi World War, long before the Yondaime earned his initial nickname as Konoha's Yellow Flash. It was hard to guess Kakashi-sensei's actual age, but he looked old enough to have served during that war.

It was also entirely possible that he had received his injury after the war. Either way, it must have taken him years to master fighting with a skewered depth perception; shinobi often retired if they couldn't resume their duties with their new limitations. Losing an eye wasn't easy and I respected him deeply for carrying on despite that.

I considered what Ino said and glanced back at his remaining eye. In history books and essays about bloodline limits, there were no pictures of the Sharingan, as they were considered high-leveled village secrets. I only knew that they were an ocular development that manifested in the Uchiha clan, though Sasuke hadn't shown anything that looked like it.

"Do… do you come here often?" I asked, slowly shifting away from the memorial stone he had probably come to see. His gaze shifted from me to the stone, making me feel like a chatterbox in a silent cemetery.

"I was told…" I continued, dropping that question for another. "That you're known as Sharingan no Kakashi…" He gaze slowly returned to mine, and it looked more assessing than it did a moment ago. "It's just that I read a lot of history and texts on these things and some things don't add up. Are you by any chance related to the Uchiha clan?" The question didn't seem to be one he had been expecting, if the way he raised his eyebrow was any indication of his surprise.

"No," he replied flatly. "Your teammate, however, is." I nearly rolled my eyes at that remark, but refrained. I couldn't tell if he was the type of teacher who would tolerate that level of minor disrespect, even if it was well-deserved. He seemed to be watching me from the corner of his eye and I couldn't tell what kind of response he was expecting to see or hear. It felt like taking an exam that required a different level of understanding.

"See you tomorrow, sensei," I said, opting to leave before I embarrassed myself any further. My attempts at gleaning information from him were an obvious train wreck and it made me wonder if his aloofness was a result of his natural personality or the topics I had raised. Considering my luck, it was probably both.

I didn't wait for his acknowledgement before hurrying off in the general direction of home.

* * *

To be continued. Please review!


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